Saturday, September 09, 2006


Our local glossy, advertising, wanky, full of suits, magazine arrived today. It is called 3004 and we are the only street to have it's own post code, so we are told. Wonder what the postcode for Queens Road is?

It is interesting enough though. One ad had a picture that included my bedroom window. My privacy has been invaded.

Another glossy publication arrived, from City of Melbourne. It too is full of advertising, but also a little bit interesting. There was a competition that you can do by email and win a $100 voucher for Belgian Beer Bar, but unfortunately not our local one, but the one at Southbank.

There was also a two for one cut out for Melbourne River Cruises. I can see a boat trip to Williamstown coming up.

Doing the biz with chicks

I was sixteen, she was fifteen. We were both drunk, me from Stones Green Ginger Wine. It was in the changing rooms of a football club in down town Moe.

I was eighteen, she was sixteen. We saw a movie in the city, Lipstick, I drove her home to Ferntree Gully, but instead we kept going up into the Dandenongs with a nice romantic view of the city lights. Wow she had big............

I was eighteen, the massage parlour lass in Gardenvale was less than proffesional for a paying customer. In a role reversal situation with a guy, I did a much better job for only $50. I didn't ask for the money.

I was 19, she was 38. Did it a few times, usually at her place. I worked with her in an Oakleigh pub.

I was 20, she was 32. Met her through the above person. Lived next to the Elwood canal. She was proabably guilty of child neglect. Her daughter ate boiled eggs for every meal.

When you are young male, you could DO anything. Along the way, I found out what it was like to be physically turned on, and it wasn't chicks that did it.

There are many details that I am remembering about the above situations, but I am not going to write about them. But as previously posted, I have always been gay, since the age of less than ten I suppose. Playing with chicks was kidding myself.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Bit Interesting Champions

Today I visited Champions, not the gay porn video/dvd seller in Canberra, but the horse racing museum at Fed Square. It was quite interesting and I would say worth the $8 admission. I don't have much interest in horse racing but they did have a John Wren exhibition on for a temporary period.

I have found John Wren very interesting ever since I read Frank Hardy's Power without Glory. Frank Hardy was interesting in himself as was his sister Mary Hardy. Now his grand daughter seems to be everywhere, as Miss Fits, the blogger, Marieke Hardy on ABC tv's Book Club show, writing in The Age newspaper and being heard on the transistor wireless.

Highlights at the horse racing museum for me were a horse's preserved heart, what a monster. A skeleton of a racing horse, the high tech electronic visual stuff, hearing Bill Collins call a horse race, (we are back to Mary Hardy here) and the very, very beautiful old silver cups that had been presented to Melbourne and Caulfield Cup winners.

The John Wren exhibition was not bad, but I learnt nothing I did not already know. There were some old photos I have never seen. Interesting to see a photo of the cyclorama in Richmond. Probably more interesting than riding around and around in circles which is what they did there, with spectators.

I had forgotten that there was a horse racecourse in Richmond, between Bridge Road and Swan Street. Must look at google earth or something later to see what is there now.

This was followed by some shopping at QV, an unrequited search for an icecream at Trampoline, (has it closed?) and coffee outdoors opposite the Town Hall.

Someone very close to me's appointment at St Vincent's Private was obviously taking longer that expected, so I sent an sms that I was going home.

Bad day

Someone very close to me did not have a good day.

The check out chick was an airhead and charged for loose macadamias and not peanuts. Picked that one up.

Later at home when transporting the shopping bags from the car, a bag split and coffee essense and glass ended on the the car park floor, as well as on jeans and a shoe. Two trips to clean it up.

While N Tran bakery made my salad roll to order, his was just made with no enquiry as to the finer details, hence that revolting smelly sause went on. Thrown out.

The checkout chap at the keeping one's sanity store, aka Dan Murphys, helped the cute young blonde by inserting his card in the eftpos machine and did not check his signature. He checked the someone close to me's signature and insisted he insert his card himself.

Medical appointment at an agreed time at a private practice was over a two hour wait.

Receptionist did not provide proper documentation, hence problem later at Medicare office.

He is not a happy Vegemite.

Unwelcome critter

I suppose it is my fault as I sometime sleep with my window open.

Although I am a Budhist sympathizer, my kindness to animals does not run to having black spiders as guests in my home. I don't believe in killing animals for sport or taunting them (is it fun?).

But when this critter ran up the arm of the couch from under the cushions as I was straightening them, he was quickly dispatched with a large dose of Mortein.

Go on, click the pic. I just know you want to see it larger.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

PC troubles

I am back. I have not been away long enough for you notice my absence, but boy, have I noticed it.

I arrived home from work at 10.30 pm last night. R went to show me a website. The pc would not wake up. Black screen. Restart. Will only go to first start up page. Play for a while, but it was stuffed.

9.30am, (fortunately a day off) this morning off to pc shop. Cmos battery was loose. Did R kick the pc? Fixed. Bring pc home. No keyboard or mouse or internet connection. Play for a while. No printer, or camera connection. Diagnose USB port problem. Return to pc shop. Check email at shop and delete larger items so that inbox does not overfill. Pc man says, leave it, I will call you.

Pc man calls, collect pc. Everything ok. Driver conflict he said. No charge for either service. Expect driver conflict was caused by something pc man did.

Three times up and down St Kilda Road in car to Balaclava. Normally I get paid for this.

So no pc from when I went to work yesterday at 1pm until 4pm today. Over twenty four hours. Is the pc and the net integrated into my life? You betcha. I was only half the person today. And I had to actually visit the bank in person to transfer money from my account to Rs.

A bit of spring cleaning got done today, but my day, as it was planned, was totally f'd.

The only nice bits were when I finally logged on and saw that there were a few comments to my blog, the lass over the road again forgot my coffee (I just walk in and hand her $2.40 and say good morning) it is now a ritual that she then forgets, and a nice walk this evening with R, to have coffee at the Royal Domain and visit the large office supply place for some flag tabs.

What did I do when I arose from bed this morning. Normally, kettle on, radio on and pc on. Kettle went on, radio is not entertaining enough to just listen to, so switched MelanKochy tv on.

Scary as it is, I am lost without my computer and the internet.

Council Rant

I wish I could rant at the Melbourne City Council for again turning off the water fountains to save water lost through evaporation. We seem to have another drought it would seem.

I am so annoyed, distressed, upset knowing how ugly our city looks without the fountains working. But I can find no logical, sane or sensible arguing point at all, aside from perhaps there is other ways that water could be saved.

Truly sad.

Extra wife

To some guys the idea of having a second wife might be nice. Don't forget you have to pay for them as well. Wives are possessions aren't they? You have to pay for them?

In spite of my efforts to keep my head down at work, my newspaper reading was interrupted by an Indonesian mate and an Indian. The Indonesian is muslim and the Indian had muslim neighbours back in India.

We discussed the concept and the reality of a second or multiple wife/wives in less than perfect English. But that is how it usually is at my workplace. Endless repetition until the non first language English speaker understands, or you understand them, or they or you pretend that you have.

I concluded that it can work quite well. That is unless you are the second wife who had reached around fifty and the children have married and moved from the home. The last wife, maybe the fifth, is young and still beautiful. The second fifty year old wife who's children had moved away from home is not at the top of the list. The first wife is the senior and gets her dues regardless.

Multiple wives must always mean jealously. How can it not?

I pushed the point a bit and dragged the conversation to what if your son slept with a woman before they were married? What if your daughter slept with man before they were married. Of course the responses were as you would expect. It is ok for a bloke to sleep around but not ok for a woman.

Not knowing too much about women and sex, I was a bit on the backfoot now. I asked my Indonesian mate if he thought his wife enjoyed sex? He would not answer. He said how much he missed his wife when she went away, her cooking and 'that extra special thing that wives and husbands do', and was very pleased when she returned.

Of course when he goes away on his own, he meets up with his rich and young 'lady friend'.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Marvellous trams

It is a wee walk to the tram stop from our front door. Invariably as we step from the building's front door door to catch a tram, three trams sail past. We walk to the tram stop and wait and wait.

I was in need of a haircut and I have eventually decided GI Joes in Brunswick Street is where I like it done.

It was all so perfect. As I arrived at the tram stop, a tram arrived. As I arrived at Collins Street, the West Preston tram arrived. As I left the salon, a city bound tram arrived.

I had an errand to do in Elizabeth Street and since I was close to Queen Street, I thought I would catch a bus home. Three buses routes pass by our abode from Queen Street and they have reasonably good service intervals.

So why did I have to wait twenty minutes for a bus in the late afternoon? By the time a bus arrived, I could have been home if I walked to Swanston Street and caught a tram.

A certain stubborness stopped me from looking at the timetable at the stop and it stops me now from checking on bus times at that time of the day.

Much as I may complain about tram service, it does not usually go so wrong as that. Don't quote me on the figures but surely if there are two bus routes with a twenty minute service interval and one with a fifteen, I should not have had to wait twenty minutes. (waiting time exageration adjusted) At that time of the day, the intervals are less than that anyway.

This is the third time this has happened to me in the same location. One day I will actually check the timetables and try to work out why it happens.

Do yourself a favour

It is sad to hear Australian author Colin Thiele has died. I have read a few of his books but the one I remember vividly is The Sun on the Stubble. It is a funny and a well written slice of period Australia so do yourself a favour and hunt out a copy.

Later update: It was his first book and is essentially a children's book, but I can assure you adults that you will enjoy it.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Old and doing the 'biz'

I can't remember how this conversation arose, but I was talking with a female workmate who is over sixty. I am sure you can guess who she is TJ. From bits I have gleaned, she has had an interesting life. She had a no good rotter of a husband (now when was the last time you heard 'no good rotter'). Somehow, do not ask me how, the subject of male fertalizing fluid came up and she caught me out when I confessed in a bragging moment, that the afore mentioned fluid may have been sprayed across my chest just once or twice in my life. Very nice. Ok, maybe more than once or twice.

She said, 'Ah, you think you young people (my chest swelled) think you have done it all. I'm catholic. It had to go somewhere'.

Brighton Antique Dealer's Mother

For once Dame M did not have fascinating tale to tell. With the Brighton Antique dealer in full flight, well Dame M knows when to let someone else have the floor.

Brighton Antique dealer's mother is still alive, 94 or thereabouts, and in a nursing home. While this may be a bit touchy for some, we really did have a good laugh. A kind of sad laugh.

I have met BAD's mother. It was at one of BAD's infamous Cup Day bashes and then agian, as blogged, last Mother's Day. She was very pleasant and ok to talk to. Quite sound of mind.

Except, every morning she complains to the staff at the home that a man comes to her room each night and forces oral sex on her. He does it three times during the night and each time she has to wash her mouth out.

It must be a posh or a government nursing home as the staff even went to the extent of setting up a camera in her room to record overnight.

Her latest was that she only has to wash her mouth out twice now. I quote BAD, quoting her mother, 'he is getting old and is not so good anymore. He will be dead soon'.

Apart from that, and removing food from her bar fridge and putting it under her bed, she is quite with it.

I said to BAD that perhaps something happened to her when she was younger, but BAD has the theory that she never experienced satisfying sex and it is all coming out now.

A bit more came out when BAD told us that her late husband only had to touch her and she was instantly aroused. With her slow speech, perfect emphasis and diction, when she said, 'He used to like me because I would get on top', made us faggots realise that perhaps some straight people could quite possibly be good at the biz.

Sunday, September 03, 2006


Sorry, not about the tv show I have never watched but I have a heap of new readers maybe?

Quite a few years ago, my workplace introduced the twenty four hour clock. Our air con, vcrs, dvd and radiogram sound system all use a twenty four hour clock. I would have thought that by now, I would no longer convert the time in my head back to the twelve hour clock, but I do. Will I ever get used to it? Probably not while the twelve hour clock is still so wide spread.

About quarter past eleven means it is nearly bedtime. I immediately have a picture in my head of me soundly asleep.

The time is now twenty three, seventeen and fifty seconds wakes me up. Whatever is happening, it must be serious. I must sleep now.

It is Chipp's fault

Dame M rarely leaves her house now. Someone suggested she should get the Seniors Sunday Travel Pass, but I knew it was a silly idea as she would never use it. She still had her gold BMW when we first met her, but her driving is un-imagineable to me. She goes for dinner or lunch to the Balaclava Hotel to eat, drink and gamble and that is about the only place she goes. If she needs to go to the doctor, she takes a taxi. Her boarder occasionally escorts her to the movies, usually The George cinema in Fitzroy Street, which is not too far to walk. She no longer goes to the hairdresser as her boarder has been taught how to do her hair. Her minions do any shopping that she needs done. She seems to have lost confidence in her abiltiy to function outside the house. While it is a bit sad, she does not seem distressed by it.

Sometimes old people are forced out of their comfort zone. I saw one such old codger yesterday leaving retired politician Don Chipp's State funeral at St Pauls. He was immaculately dressed in a very nice suit. Even though he had a female in her thirties and a very attactive young man escorting him, he still managed to hit the deck in the middle of Swanston Street. He struggled to get up and hit the deck a second time. Note to folks in this situation. It is not imperative that if someone falls down, that they must immediately be hauled back on to their feet. Give them some time.

I expect the old chap would have been very pleased once he reached the reassuring environs of his own abode. He will remember the day as not the best one of his life.